


object of my affection

by thunderylee



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Canon Universe, M/M, POV First Person, Romance, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-04-26
Updated: 2005-04-26
Packaged: 2019-02-08 01:59:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,600
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12854310
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thunderylee/pseuds/thunderylee
Summary: Sixth year. Neville’s POV; Watching Harry at night leads to unexpected pleasures and realizations.





	object of my affection

**Author's Note:**

> reposted from agck. written for the love triangle challenge 2005. first fic ever!

I have been watching Harry Potter for years.

We were eleven when I first laid eyes on him, and being eleven, I felt more admiration than anything else towards the small raven-haired boy. Gran had told me all about the Boy-Who-Lived. Imagine my surprise when I found out I would be sharing a dorm with him! He wasn’t at all like I expected him to be; in fact, the more I watched him, the more I realized he was just a normal boy who happened to be famous for something he couldn’t even remember.

Second year brought forth more complicated feelings I wasn’t quite ready to deal with yet. We were all experiencing changes, the girls as well as the boys, although I didn’t pay any of the girls much attention. That should have been my first clue. What I _did_ notice was how much Harry’s voice had deepened in addition to the slight build in his physique, the latter no doubt from working like a house-elf over the summer holidays for his Muggle relatives. (Those bastards.)

I finally admitted to myself that I was attracted to Harry in third year. I knew it wasn’t “right” – blokes didn’t fancy other blokes – but I had long since lost the internal battle with my heart. It wasn’t just about the way he looked; it was simply the way he _was_. He was confident and insecure at the same time. He would put himself in the path of danger to ensure his friends’ safety. He was the damn Boy-Who-Lived, yet he didn’t think he was better than anyone else.

By fourth year, I had accepted the fact that I would probably never be with Harry the way I oh-so wanted to. Not only was he starting to express an interest in girls, _Ron_ was the “thing he would miss most.” If only I hadn’t been so shy and timid this whole time, _I_ could have been Harry’s best friend and maybe it would have been _me_ sitting at the bottom of the lake while he did everything in his power to save me. But it didn’t happen that way and _Ron_ would definitely be at the top of Harry’s Shag List if he ever decided to experiment with blokes.

The dreams started in fifth year. Despite my many attempts to get over the incredibly handsome Seeker, I found myself dreaming of us _together_ nearly every night. They always started the same way. Harry would be confused about his sexuality and confess his feelings to Ron. Ron would freak out and they would have a row in front of everyone. Harry would flee to the dormitory, where I would be waiting with open arms and an inviting bed. I would declare my affection and he would look at me as if he were seeing me for the first time. Then we would kiss passionately.

That’s where the dreams ended. It was like my subconscious respected Harry too much to portray him as a flaming poof tart. That didn’t stop me once I woke up, however. My imagination ran wild with vivid images of what could have happened _next_ , although I seriously doubted if it was possible for anyone to be that limber in real life. It’s a good thing we learned silencing charms that year, because I released a _lot_ of tension after those fantasies.

It’s now sixth year, and I don’t know what to think anymore. I’ve spent the last five years watching Harry in class, at mealtime, in the common room, and on the Quidditch pitch, and recently I have taken to watching him sleep. He has such a full schedule this year, what with all of his “extra lessons” in addition to Quidditch practice and DA meetings. He barely makes it to his bed before passing out. He also forgets to close his hangings. I found that if I left mine open just a crack, I can see him perfectly.

Every night, it’s damn near midnight by the time Harry comes in. He stumbles across the dorm and falls clumsily into bed. He’s asleep before his head even touches the pillow. His glasses are still on, as well as his clothes. The duvet is still bunched up at the end of the bed where he had thrown it off that morning. He’s sprawled out on his back, breathing loudly through his mouth but not quite snoring.

I’m not the only one who wakes up when Harry comes in. Every night, Ron gets up and walks over to Harry’s bed, unsteadily as if he’s not fully conscious. He carefully lifts Harry’s glasses off his face and places them on the nightstand. He removes Harry’s shoes and arranges them neatly on the floor. He straightens out the duvet and covers Harry with it, tucking him in. He looks at Harry thoughtfully for a moment before heading back to his own bed.

I’m so overcome with jealousy I see green as I fall back asleep.

I’m awake again the exact moment the nightmares begin. I watch Harry thrash about, twisting himself up in the duvet, clutching his scar. He has an expression on his face that I can only describe as total agony. For a split second I consider rushing to his side and gently coercing him awake, saving him from whatever mental torture he is being subjected to. In that split second, however, Ron is already there.

Ron makes it from his bed to Harry’s in record time. I briefly wonder if he has some kind of special Harry Alarm that alerts him every time he has a nightmare. He is clearly wide awake now. He grabs Harry by the shoulders and shakes him as hard as he can, as if Harry’s life depends on Ron waking him up _this instant_. Harry’s eyes fly open as he is pulled abruptly from his dream. He takes in his surroundings and breathes a sigh of relief when his eyes fall upon Ron.

“Ron, it was horrible,” he says, and proceeds to describe tonight’s nightmare in intricate detail.

Ron listens intently, sympathizing when appropriate. His hands remain folded in his lap as he perches on the edge of Harry’s bed, maintaining eye contact the entire time Harry is speaking. When the nightmare is divulged and both boys decide to go back to sleep, Ron gives Harry a pat on the back before returning to his own bed. Harry then realizes he’s in his day clothes and takes the opportunity to change into his pajamas.

I take the opportunity to watch.

Harry is sixteen now, but he hasn’t grown as much as the rest of the boys our age. He’s so short that most of the girls are taller than him, and he’s so skinny I’m willing to bet he was starved by his Muggle relatives. (Those bastards.) When he takes off his jumper in favor of a pajama top, I notice there is absolutely no hair on his chest. I can also clearly see the outline of his ribs.

He keeps his boxers on as he trades trousers for pajama bottoms, so I don’t get to see anything other than very skinny, faintly-haired legs. He climbs back into bed and untangles the duvet, pulling it up to his chin. He doesn’t fall asleep right away; he never does after a nightmare. He stares at the ceiling, tossing and turning as if he is continuously uncomfortable. It usually takes about an hour or so for him to drift off.

I watch him sleep for a few minutes before following suit. He looks so peaceful lying there, curled up in his bed. Sometimes he falls asleep facing me. I can see his eyelashes fluttering as he dreams. His full lips are fixed in a straight line, slightly parted. It’s on these nights that I feel like the luckiest man in the world, if just for the sole reason that his face is the last thing I see before I close my eyes.

It dawns on me that I love him. The sudden realization both excites me and scares the shite out of me at the same time. I’m a sixteen-year-old boy who’s in love with another boy whom I’ve hardly spoken to for the past six years. I don’t even know for sure if he fancies blokes. Contrary to popular belief, Harry has not said anything one way or another regarding his sexuality. He hasn’t shown an interest in anyone, male or female, since the incident with Cho Chang last year.

Of course, if someone’s only goal in life were to have me dead, getting into a romantic relationship wouldn’t be my top priority. If I constantly had nightmares that caused me excruciating pain and forced me to witness the worst possible things, I would become an insomniac. If the entire wizarding world was depending on _me_ to defeat a Dark Lord whose name alone was feared enough that no one dare speak it, well, I just don’t know what I would do.

Harry deals with all these obstacles on a daily basis and then some. If anything, the complications in his life make me love him _more_. It breaks my heart to watch him go through all of this alone. Sure, he has Ron and Hermione, but how much longer before they give in to their obvious attraction towards each other and leave Harry feeling like a third wheel?

A majority of Hogwarts’ students (and a few professors) have been placing bets on Ron and Hermione for years. I really wish they would get on with it already. Whenever they get into a row, everyone hangs onto their every word like it’s a damn Muggle soap opera, waiting for one of them to slip and profess their undying love for each other.

_“Why are you being like this?” Ron would demand, after Hermione does something trivial like nag him to do his homework._

_“Because I love you, you git!” she would reply._

_“Oh yeah? Well, I love you too!”_

I can’t help but snigger at the thought of Ron and Hermione standing in the middle of the Great Hall, both dumbfounded by what they just said to each other. They would then do the slow-motion come-together-and-kiss as everyone applauds wildly and pays their debts to whoever bet on that day.

My amusement fades as I imagine Harry’s reaction. Initial hurt and betrayal at the thought of losing his two best friends, covered up by a fake, courageous smile to lead them to believe he was happy for them. Of course, there’s always the possibility that Harry _does_ fancy blokes and, more specifically, _Ron_ , which would add heartbreak and jealousy to the list.

I’m thinking about all of this as I lay awake yet again watching Harry sleep. I should really just tell him. Who _knows_ how he feels? Even if he did fancy Ron, Ron’s as straight as an arrow and obviously in love with Hermione. The things he does every night to take care of Harry (in turn making me insanely jealous) are completely normal. That’s what best mates are for.

When the nightmare takes over this time, I’m glad I’m already awake. Harry’s bloodcurdling scream could have roused the heaviest of sleepers in the Slytherin dungeons. I see it coming and plug my ears. Dean and Seamus have started using silencing charms at night since Harry’s nightmares started last year. We also have one on the entire dorm for the same reason. Ron and I are the only ones who can hear him.

Despite the reoccurring nightmares, Harry hasn’t screamed at all this year. Not since right before we all went to the Department of Mysteries, if I remember correctly. This one has to be bad.

I blink and Ron’s by his side. Actually, he _lunges_ onto Harry’s bed and moves directly over him, pounding him against the mattress to wake him up. Harry’s eyes fly open, but this time he sees Ron hovering almost on top of him and throws his arms around his neck.

Ron looks as surprised as I am. He rolls off Harry and sits up, bringing Harry with him due to the death grip he has on Ron’s neck. Ron cautiously places his own arms around Harry’s waist and pats his lower back.

“They got you,” Harry sobs into Ron’s shoulder. “I thought you were dead.”

Ron’s face softens and he tightens his hold on Harry. “I’m not dead,” he says soothingly. “I’m right here.”

They sit like that for a few minutes, Ron rocking back and forth with Harry almost in his lap. Harry calms down and suddenly tears himself away from Ron as if he’s on fire. “I’m so sorry,” he says, clapping his hands over his mouth in embarrassment. “I don’t know what came over me. I -”

“It’s okay, Harry,” says Ron, taking one of Harry’s hands and giving it a squeeze. “I reckon I’d be offended if you _didn’t_ grab onto me for dear life after dreaming that I was dead.”

Harry removes his other hand from his mouth and smiles. Ron reciprocates. “Come on, let’s go back to sleep.” Ron makes no effort to get up from Harry’s bed. In fact, it looks as if he’s trying to make himself comfortable. “Shove over, will you? My arse is hanging off the bed.”

Harry’s facing me now, and I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone’s eyes get that big. It’s like in the Muggle cartoons where their eyes bug out of their heads. He says nothing in protest, however, and shoves over as requested. My own eyes bug out when Ron snuggles up against Harry’s back, flinging an arm around his waist. Harry’s eyes return to normal size and a small smile plays at the corners of his mouth, although it appears that he’s willed his body to remain perfectly still.

“Harry?” Ron mumbles sleepily into Harry’s shoulder blade. “This is okay, isn’t it? I mean, this way, if you have another nightmare where I die, you’ll know it’s not real because I’m right here.”

“Thanks mate,” is all Harry can say before he falls asleep.

Once again, Ron and I share the same emotion of amazement. I can almost see him thinking, _Harry never falls asleep this fast_. It must be the comfort of Ron’s body. I see a giant grin spread across Ron’s face as he, too, falls asleep.

Well, if this isn’t an interesting development. I am now watching two boys sleep. Together, in the same bed. Spooning, even. Surely Ron couldn’t have more-than-friendly feelings for Harry, could he? It’s possible that this could be a completely innocent act of platonic intimacy between best mates. Ron _did_ grow up with five older brothers, after all. Maybe this is how he was raised to console anyone, male or female.

On the other hand, maybe everybody’s wrong and Ron’s in love with Harry, not Hermione. After all, even if Ron isn’t attracted to Hermione, what’s stopping him from dating any of the other girls at Hogwarts? I’ve been to enough Quidditch games to overhear the _real_ reason most of the girls go – to watch Gryffindor’s Keeper in action. They’re constantly saying how _hot_ Ron is and discussing in explicit detail how they’d like him to “guard their hoops.” (I only remember this because Hermione snorted hot cocoa up her nose and couldn’t smell anything for a week.)

Bad Quidditch puns aside, if Ron is in love with Harry and Harry with Ron, why haven’t they gotten together yet? With all the time they’ve spent together, nearly every day for almost six years minus a month every summer, certainly one of them would have broken by now. I fervently hope that this is _not_ the case; that Ron is just being a good mate by staying with Harry tonight and ignoring those other girls because they’re all tarts and he loves Hermione anyway. However, given what I just saw on both of their faces tonight, that seems like the most _unlikely_ outcome.

The numerous possibilities are swimming around in my head as I struggle to fall asleep. No matter the result, all I want is for the truth to reveal itself soon, so I don’t have to go on trying to make sense out of this bizarre love triangle.

I get my wish a few weeks later. Ron has taken to sleeping in Harry’s bed every single night after they assume everyone is asleep, even on the rare occasions Harry doesn’t have any nightmares. This is one of those nights, and once again I’m spying through the slit in my hangings, straining to hear every word.

“Ron?” asks Harry. “Why do you stay with me every night?”

The boys are facing each other with Harry’s back to me. I can see Ron’s face clearly as it takes on a look of shock, and he hesitates before answering. “It’s easier to wake you from a nightmare if I’m already here,” he says simply.

Harry accepts this. They are quiet for a few moments. Then, “Ron? Do you think it’s strange that I don’t want a girlfriend?”

“Not at all. You have a lot going on right now, and I doubt any _girls_ would even begin to understand it.” The slight emphasis on _girls_ both thrills and terrifies me.

“What about Hermione and Ginny?” counters Harry. “They would understand it perfectly well, yet I’m not the least bit interested in either one of them.”

“I know what you mean, mate,” says Ron. “I mean, Ginny’s my sister, so obviously – no, I’m not even going to say it. Ew. Hermione, though… I know everyone thinks we’re going to end up together, and she’s a great girl, really, but I can’t imagine getting, you know, _physically intimate_ with her. With any girl, really.” Ron’s hands fly up to cover his mouth as if he said too much.

“That’s exactly how I feel,” says Harry slowly, paying no attention to Ron’s apprehension. “So I guess it’s not strange, after all. Unless we’re both strange.”

Ron’s face relaxes and he chuckles. “We’ve always been strange.” His voice turns serious. “Harry? Er, since you don’t think about girls that way… Do you – well, I mean, have you ever… Is it just that you don’t fancy _anyone_? Or just girls. Because if you fancy blokes, you know, you can tell me. I’d be the last person to judge you.”

Harry is silent. I would give anything to see the look on his face right now. I know my own jaw is dropping at Ron’s accusation, and I’m damn near hanging out of my bed in anticipation of Harry’s response.

“I don’t fancy blokes,” Harry says finally. “Just you.”

I have to catch myself to keep from falling out of bed. Ron’s jaw joins mine on the floor. “Me?” he squeaks.

“Ron, that doesn’t freak you out, does it?” Harry sits up and shivers anxiously. “You just said you don’t like girls either – unless I took that the wrong way – and you’ve been sleeping in my bed every night, so I thought you might fancy me too. It would make sense and all, considering we’ve been through _everything_ in the past six years… Damn, you _are_ freaked out. I can see it in your face. I’m so sorry, Ron, just forget I said anything. Let’s start over -”

“Harry?” Ron interrupts him, his voice as calm as can be.

“Yeah?”

“Shut up.”

What happens next will remain in my memory as long as I live. The object of my affection and the object of _his_ affection share their first kiss on Harry’s bed, illuminated by the moonlight sneaking in through the window. It’s awkward and quick, Ron grabbing Harry by the shoulders and planting one on him before he could ramble on anymore about Ron freaking out, Ron not wanting this.

Harry looks positively beautiful, as he always does, but even more so as Ron’s lips tentatively touch his. When it’s over, Harry’s eyes bug out of his head again. He seems to be incapable of speech. He attempts to move his mouth to form coherent words, not managing much more than, “Guh.”

Ron grins at Harry’s lack of articulacy, and the grin remains as he leans in for another kiss. This one is much deeper. Harry’s tongue darts out to run across Ron’s bottom lip, causing a faint growl to emerge from Ron’s throat as he enlists his own tongue to leisurely duel with Harry’s.

Despite the circumstances, I can’t tear my eyes away from the two boys in front of me. I find myself growing hard, as I am sure they both are. I slip a hand down the front of my pajama pants to comply with my body’s demands as my eyes remain glued on Harry and Ron.

Ron abruptly breaks the kiss when it occurs to him that he has moved halfway on top of Harry. “Is this okay?” he breathes, running his fingers along the strip of bare skin between Harry’s pajama top and bottoms, waiting for Harry to give them permission to roam.

Harry has his own hands in Ron’s hair, seeming mesmerized by the thickness and length of the bright-red mane. His attention turns back to Ron as he contemplates the current situation. “Yes,” he hisses, the soft caress of Ron’s calloused fingers causing his entire body to twitch. “Anything you want to do, it’s okay,” he goes on. “I’ve waited so long for this. For you.”

“I know what you mean,” says Ron, and that’s the end of all verbal dialogue.

I watch Ron press his mouth to the dip in Harry’s neck, his hand disappearing under the pajama top. The thin material is stretched down from the top as Ron furthers his oral journey to Harry’s collarbone, and riding up from the waist as Ron’s ministrations on Harry’s chest move higher. Harry separates himself from Ron just long enough to pull the top over his head and carelessly toss it aside. He then yanks Ron back down so he’s now completely on top of him.

Ron stares in awe at the sight of Harry’s bare chest, proceeding to cover the soft, hairless skin with messy kisses. Harry’s hands tighten on Ron’s shoulder blades, as if he’s not sure what to do with them. When Ron’s tongue tentatively brushes a nipple, Harry shudders and bucks his hips up.

Ron feels Harry’s arousal on his thigh and reaches his hand down between Harry’s legs. When his fingertips barely graze the noticeable bulge, Harry throws his head back and stifles a moan. Ron’s touches become bolder, nearly wanking Harry through his pajama bottoms.

Without a word, Harry lowers the only thing separating Ron’s hand from direct contact with the hardened muscle that is begging to be freed of its constriction. Ron whisks the offending material away and discards it on the floor. He kneels over Harry for a moment taking in the sight of his best mate completely naked beneath him, his erection sticking straight up in all its glory.

The boys exchange a glance as if they are communicating telepathically. The next thing I know, Ron’s mouth is on Harry with the same determination and urgency he exudes when waking him up after nightmares. There is none of the uncertain licking/kissing/tongue-flicking that girls do to tease while giving head – Ron is a _bloke_ , and blokes know better than even the biggest tart how to please another bloke. It makes me contemplate a brand-new possibility that perhaps this isn’t Ron’s first time. Apparently, “straight as an arrow” means “straight as the scar on Harry’s forehead.”

“Guh,” says Harry for the second time, arching his back. He digs his fingers in Ron’s hair again as Ron takes him in as far as he can. He’s breathing hard and quite erratically, signaling that he’s close. Ron quickens his pace as I do the same to myself. The look on Harry’s face as he comes is enough to drive me over the edge simultaneously.

Even in the aftermath of my own orgasm, I still can’t peel my eyes away from the spectacle just a few feet away from me. I watch Ron swallow every last drop and gradually make his way back up Harry’s body until they are face to face. He cups Harry’s face with one hand and rubs his thumb across those full lips, causing them to part slightly. This is the only movement Harry can manage at the moment; he’s struggling to so much as open his eyes.

“Look at me,” Ron whispers. His fingers graze Harry’s eyelids as they flutter open. “That was me. I did that to you. I did it because I love you. You probably already know that, but I’m saying it anyway. I love you, Harry James Potter, and I don’t care who knows.”

“I’ve always loved you, Ron,” Harry says before drifting off.

Ron settles himself in the bed and smiles as Harry snuggles up to him in his sleep. He gives Harry a tight squeeze before joining him in slumber.

I guess that answers all of my questions. Six years of watching and fantasizing and contemplating are over, just like that. I’m done; I have no other choice. I can’t keep thinking and feeling these things for someone who loves someone else. I feel like a right perv for watching them together like that – it’s one thing to spy on two people who are just messing around, but when they’re doing it out of love? Sacrilegious, that is.

I should be upset. Irate, heartbroken, insanely jealous, or _something_. Instead, I feel nothing. I feel nothing and it’s the best feeling in the world. The weight that I’ve carried for six years is suddenly gone. My mind is clear. I remember there’s a test in Transfiguration tomorrow. I have a Potions essay to finish. I’m meeting with Professor Sprout in a few days to discuss my career options in the Herbology field.

I do something I should have done two years ago. I grab my wand from the nightstand and whisper a silencing spell. I close my hangings completely and roll over onto my other side. I can’t remember the last time I slept this way. I’ve forgotten what it’s like to sleep through the night. The only sounds I hear are my breathing and the beating of my heart. It’s very relaxing. I close my eyes.

I think about my life. I think about my friends. I think about what I’m going to do after graduating from Hogwarts. I realize the only thing I have left to figure out is my own sexuality.

Maybe I’ll ask Seamus to help me out with that.

> Alternate Ending #1

_“Look at me,” Ron whispers. His fingers graze Harry’s eyelids as they flutter open. “That was me. I did that to you. I did it because I love you. You probably already know that, but I’m saying it anyway. I love you, Harry James Potter, and I don’t care who knows.”_

“Good, because we expect this to be a nightly performance.”

Harry turns pale and Ron blushes to his ears. Both of their heads snap towards the other side of the dorm, along with my own. We see Seamus poking his head out of his bed hangings with a wicked grin on his face.

Harry is speechless, but Ron’s in a right state. “You were _watching_ us? How sick can you be? What happened to your silencing charms?”

“Are you kidding?” calls out a different voice. “Muggles pay good money to watch this shite! You think we’re going to pass up a chance to have a front-row seat for the live show?”

“Dean?” Ron looks confused. “Why are you in Seamus’ bed?”

“Wait for it,” Seamus says quietly. “One, two -”

Ron’s jaw drops as realization smacks him in the face. “Oh my -” he trails off, turning even redder. “I had no idea.”

Dean chuckles. “I guess we’re better at hiding it than you.”

“And we think to close the hangings,” Seamus adds.

Harry bursts out laughing. “What?” he protests to Ron’s narrowed eyes. “You have to admit, this is kind of funny.”

“Hilarious, actually,” says Seamus.

“Is Neville the only one of us who isn’t a poof?” Ron asks incredulously.

“Doubtful,” replies Dean. “He’s probably been watching you two the whole time.”

“I heard that,” I say.

“Busted!” Dean and Seamus exclaim triumphantly.

“So what if I am?” I retort. “You lot clearly have no room to judge.”

“You got that right,” says Harry. “Now if the three of you don’t mind, I have some unfinished business to attend to.” He flashes us a wicked grin before casting the silencing charm around his bed and closing his hangings all the way.

“Dammit, Finnigan,” hisses Dean crossly, “why did you have to say something? Now we don’t get to see what happens next.”

“I could tell you,” says Seamus, lowering his voice seductively. “Or maybe I’ll just show you.”

There is some muffled whispering, followed by Seamus’ voice. “Neville? Can you still hear us?”

“Yeah,” I say. “Don’t worry, I’m about to put up the charm.”

“Wait,” says Seamus. “Dean and I were wondering if you wanted to come over here and play with us.”

I raise an eyebrow and choke on my own breath. “Come again?”

“That’s the plan,” says Dean.

Harry who?

> Alternate Ending #2

_“Look at me,” Ron whispers. His fingers graze Harry’s eyelids as they flutter open. “That was me. I did that to you. I did it because I love you. You probably already know that, but I’m saying it anyway. I love you, Harry James Potter, and I don’t care who knows.”_

_“I’ve always loved you, Ron,” Harry says before drifting off._

_Ron settles himself in the bed and smiles as Harry snuggles up to him in his sleep. Ron gives Harry a tight squeeze before joining him in slumber._

I wait until I hear Ron’s snoring before I sneak out of bed and down the stairs to the common room. It’s late; I suspect no one else will be there. I need some time to think.

I’m wrong. Hermione is curled up in her usual armchair, surrounded by her usual mountain of books. She doesn’t notice me and continues writing what looks like a novel on a roll of parchment.

I watch her for a moment before announcing my presence. She is wearing a dressing gown, her hair wild and bushy as it always is. But there’s something different about her; I can’t exactly put my finger on it, but she has changed somehow.

She pauses in her writing and looks up at me. She doesn’t appear startled at all. A smile creeps across her face as she neatly places her work aside and stands up.

“Hullo, Neville,” she says simply.

“Hullo, Hermione,” I say.

She motions me over to the couch and I follow. “What are you doing up so late?” I ask.

We sit. I’m facing forward and Hermione is facing me. “I could ask the same of you, but it’s not even half ten. I’m finishing my Potions essay.”

“That’s not due for a week!” I say incredulously.

She looks at me pointedly. “Surely you didn’t come all the way down here to reprimand me for completing my homework early.” Her face softens. “Is something on your mind?”

Her implied tone makes me think she already knows. Hell, she probably does. So I tell her. “Yes. I just saw something… _interesting_.”

She rolls her eyes and sighs. “It’s about damn time.”

I gape at her. “How on earth…” I think out loud, trailing off. “Never mind.”

“Are you all right?” she asks, placing one hand on my knee.

I look down at her hand and back up to her face. She looks genuinely concerned. “You know, I am,” I answer honestly. “I should be irate or heartbroken or insanely jealous or _something_. But I’m not. In fact, I’m truly happy for them, if you can believe it.”

“I can believe it,” Hermione replies. “I was confused at first, too.”

“How long have you known?” I ask.

“About you or them?” She laughs quietly. “Doesn’t matter, it’s the same answer for both. Years. All three of you are quite obvious, you know.”

I feel my face heating up and I know I’m blushing.

“Everyone thought Ron and I would end up together,” she goes on, “but I knew better. Their love for each other is much stronger than my love for Ron could ever be. Besides, it would never work out between us. Can you imagine? We’d kill each other before we even made it to the bedroom.”

I laugh despite myself. “I guess you’re right,” I say. “Strangely enough, after seeing them together tonight, I don’t even feel anything towards Harry anymore. Nothing more than friendship, that is. It’s like a huge weight has been lifted off my shoulders, a weight that I’ve been carrying for _six years_. I feel so light now.”

I’m rambling, but Hermione makes no effort to stop me, listening intently and nodding. “So what are you going to do now?”

“Move on, I suppose.” I eye her hand, still on my knee, and suddenly I figure out what’s different about her. “Hermione?”

“Yes?” She looks at me expectantly. She probably already knows what I’m going to say.

I say it anyway. “Would you like to go out with me sometime?”

She grins and squeezes my knee. “I thought you’d never ask.”


End file.
